


Balouve

by Spica88



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Broken Bones, Character Death, Concussions, Depression, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Graphic Description, Grief/Mourning, Hurt, Hurt Noctis Lucis Caelum, Hurt Prompto Argentum, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Noctis Whump, Pain, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:55:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24359179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spica88/pseuds/Spica88
Summary: The gang enters the Balouve Mines in search of the Bow of the Clever. Thinking the task should be simple enough, they split up to cover more ground. When Prompto and Noctis are ambushed by a horde of Arachne daemons, things take a turn for the worst.
Comments: 21
Kudos: 84





	1. Chapter 1

The Regalia rolled to a stop outside the gate to the entrance of the Balouve mines. Gladio, in the front seat for a change, folded the map before stowing in neatly in the glove box.

“You think they could have made this place any harder to find?” He grumbled to nobody in particular.

Ignis sighed, resigned to keep his thoughts to himself.

“It probably wouldn’t have been that hard to find if you knew how to read a map,” Noctis said from the back seat, hunched over his phone next to Prompto.

“As if you could take your face out of your phone long enough to even read a map,” Gladio said as he turned around and punched him in the shoulder, a little harder than the situation called for.

“Shit! Ouch…” Noctis complained, rubbing the already forming knot. “That’s treason!”

“Punishable by death, you know,” Prompto snickered, furrowing his brow in concentration at the screen on his phone.

“Do your worst, _your highness_ ,” Gladio said with a mocking sneer.

“Eat shit and-’” Noctis was cut off by Ignis, using that special “mom” voice that he got when they started bickering.

“Children!” Ignis growled. “That’s enough. Gladio, please act your age and show some respect to your prince. Noctis, watch your tongue. Such language is not befitting of the future King of Lucis.

Gladio fumed in his seat. Noctis rolled his eyes, knowing his hair would be covering them while Prompto looked at Ignis expectantly, mouth half open, ready to defend himself.

“You haven’t done anything wrong this time, surprisingly,” Ignis said and his turned the ignition off while Prompto snapped his mouth shut and cocked his head, affronted.

The four men piled out of the car and started through the gate, following the cart tracks up to the mine entrance. This should be easy. They hadn’t even bothered to stop for lunch or stock up on supplies, not wanting to waste daylight. There would be plenty of time for that once they got back to Hammerhead tonight. They had been on the road for a while, running low on gil and inventory, and nobody had slept in a bed for a least 10 days. The last thing they needed to do before they spent a few days recuperating was to find the Bow of the Clever, the Royal Arm that was supposedly hidden away in the mines. Everyone was anxious to get in there, find the damn thing and be on their way. A few yards into the entrance was a simple gated elevator. The only option was to go down, so they must be on the top floor.

“We’ll cover more ground if we split up,” Noctis suggested, looking to the rest of the group to see if anyone had any objections.

“Capital idea, Noct” Ignis commended. “But we stay in pairs. The last thing we need is one of us wandering off and getting lost.”

“Sweet!” Noctis said, “Prompto and I will start on the next lowest floor. You and Gladio-“

“Like hell you will,” Gladio cut him off. “Prompto can go with Ignis.”

“No way!” Prompto complained.

“Seriously, Gladio!” Noctis continued. “We’re right in the middle of a game of online poker and the pot is huge! You should see the hand I’ve got. He doesn’t stand a chance. If I win I’ll give you a cut, but the service in this place is going to suck. If we get too far away from each other we’ll loose our connection.”

Gladio stared at Noctis, astonished. He shook his head and looked to Ignis for backup, surprised he hadn’t come to his defense already.

“Specs?” Gladio said, waiting for Ignis to interject.

“I think they’ll be fine,” Ignis said thoughtfully. “The mines are still active. There will be electricity and they should be well enough maintained. I would say if anything there’s a slight possibility of small daemons hiding in the recesses, but nothing that they can’t easily manage between the two of them.

“Good point!” Prompto said, grabbing Noctis by the wrist and darting into the elevator, closing the gate, and pressing the button to go down before the older two could move to stop them.

“Thanks Iggy!” Noctis said, flashing his most dazzling smile, the one that could convince Ignis to forgive him no matter what the transgression. “You two start at the bottom floor and we’ll meet in the middle!” He yelled up as the elevator descended.

“I’d take my time if I we’re you,” Gladio yelled down. “You’re in for an ass kicking as soon as you get back!”

“Do your worst!” Noctis challenged with an exaggerated deep voice, puffing his chest out and mocking Gladio’s words from earlier while Prompto doubled over with laughter as the elevator slowly worked its way down the shaft.

-

-

“Dude, he’s going to kill you when we get back,” Prompto said, still chuckling

“Probably,” Noctis shrugged. “I wish he’d fucking chill out. He’s always up my ass, calling me a pussy and shit then never letting me do anything by myself.”

“It _is_ his job,” Prompto said, feeling like he had steered the conversation in the wrong direction.

“It’s just the juice talking,” Noctis joked, nudging Prompto in the ribs with his elbow. Prompto’s eyes got wide and he laughed.

“Does he seriously juice? Isn’t there, some, like “royal” policy or something against substance abuse for the crownsguard?”

“I’m sure there probably is,” Noctis snorted. “There’s a rule for everything. Even some of the rules have rules. I’m joking anyway. He hardly even drinks. I think he’s just naturally that big. You should have seen his dad at his age.”

“Well, if he does, and I find out he’s holding out on me, I’m gonna be pissed,” Prompto said, flexing his biceps.

“Tell me about it,” Noctis muttered, looking down in disappointment at his own slim body. Average height for a man, maybe even a little under. The muscles in his arms, chest and stomach were defined, but only because he didn’t have a spare ounce of fat on him. He managed to put on 15 pounds in the last two years, but he still had a long way to go. He sighed, thinking about how tall and strong _his_ dad had looked at 20, and it depressed him. His head snapped forward as the elevator creaked to a stop and the door opened. Noctis pushed the button, sending it back up to Ignis and Gladio, hoping they would take it down to the bottom floor instead of coming after them.

“Looks like only one way forward,” Prompto observed.

The path ahead was narrow and linear, just a line of cart tracks that were dimly illuminated by hanging electric lanterns every 20 or so feet. The two walked forward, eyes roaming over the coal dusted walls and low hanging ceiling. Prompto shivered with the sudden temperature change, suddenly remembering the poker game and pulling his phone from his pocket.

“Well fuck,” he said when he saw the signal bar was empty.

“Don’t worry,” Noctis said, “I remember my hand, and there was no way you were going to beat it.”

“And I’ve seen you bluff before,” Prompto argued. “We’ll call it a draw and try again tonight when we get to Hammerhead-“

The screech of metal tires on tracks interrupted Prompto as an empty steel mine cart came careening towards them from the darkness of the tunnel.  
  


“Look out!” Noctis shouted, launching himself into Prompto to push him off the tracks as the cart simultaneously slammed into him, sending him flying into one of the tunnel walls and sliding to the ground in a heap.

“Shit!” Prompto screamed, running to Noctis’s crumpled form.

Noctis was curled in on himself, eyes wide and gasping, trying to get his breath back. Prompto pulled him onto his back, wiping the streak of blood that trickled down his forehead into his eyebrow with his sleeve. He pulled a potion out of the armiger and handed it to him.

“You ok?” Prompto asked, not sure if he should be touching him or not.

“Ouch,” Noctis gasped. “Stay off the tracks,” he panted.

“Seriously, are you hurt?” Prompto said, still shaking a little.

“I’m okay. I don’t think anything’s broken,” Noctis said, pushing himself up onto his elbows. He cracked the potion anyway, sighing with relief when his chest relaxed and he could breathe again.

Prompto stood, reaching down to grab Noctis by the forearm and pulled him to his feet. Noctis swiped at the blood running down his forehead, smearing it across his temple and into his hair.

“Hopefully we can get that to stop before we meet back up with Ignis and Gladio or they’ll never let us go off alone again,” Prompto laughed.

“I think it already did. I’ll just tell them I got into a scrap with a daemon or something and left him looking way worse,” Noctis said, looking around for good measure to make sure that they were still alone.

“Come on,” Noctis said, “Let’s find this stupid thing and get the hell out of here. I’m starving and this place is making me claustrophobic.”

“I’m right there with you,” Prompto agreed as they walked forward, careful of the tracks and checking behind them every so often to make sure nothing was creeping up behind them.

They walked without incident for about twenty minutes, finding nothing worth investigating when they came to a large cave off the main path. There weren’t any lanterns hanging in it, so it was hard to tell how deep it went. Noctis pulled his light out and started towards it. Once Prompto figured out what he was doing, he grabbed him by his belt to stop him.

“You’re not seriously going in there?”

“Uh, yeah, I am. What if the bow’s in there?”

“Then we leave it and send someone else to get it?” Prompto asked, doubtfully.

“Don’t be a pussy. If it’s there, we can grab it and go back up and be done with this. If we go passed it we could be here for hours, wandering around for nothing,” Noctis argued.

“But we have no idea what else could be in there with it!” Prompto complained.

“Aw, is someone afraid of the dark?” Noctis teased.

“I wasn’t, until I started hanging out with you and getting ambushed my monsters every time the sun goes down.”

“You can stay here. I’m going to check. BRB.”

“You’re crazy, I’ve been saying it all along. I can’t believe you survived this long. No wonder Ignis and Gladio never let you do anything by yourself…” Prompto rambled, more to himself than anything, as Noctis waved him off and started towards the cave. Prompto pulled his gun out of it’s holster and followed behind him, shaking his head, still muttering under his breath.

The cave was large and symmetrical, forming a nearly perfect circle. The two crept slowly around it, searching with their flashlights for anything worthwhile. They almost decided that there was nothing to see when a scuffling sound came from above. They both raised their lights to the ceiling to find a cluster of Arachne daemons scuttling around overhead. As soon as the light hit them, they shrieked and dropped from the ceiling. One landed on Noctis’s shoulder, dragging its dagger like legs down his arm and flaying the skin open. Noctis yelped, more in surprise and disgust than anything, flinging the creature from his arm then pulling his engine blade from the armiger and spinning in an arch, slicing the monster clean in half. Prompto readied Starshell, illuminating the cave while the remaining daemons wailed. Noctis warped into the monsters; one, two, three, four times, taking each down with a single strike. He went to warp into a fifth when he was tugged back by something deep in his core, and he started seeing double, stasis making him dizzy and nauseous. He swiped at his armiger for an elixir and came up empty handed.

“Shit,” he said under his breath as his mind reeled to come up with a plan. There were twelve daemons left, though they weren’t very strong and most of them went down with a single, well placed strike, they we’re still heavily outnumbered. If only there was a way to draw them all together…

“Prompto! Gravisphere!” Noctis shouted as inspiration graciously struck and he readied a Firaga flask. Prompto grinned savagely as the idea registered and he pulled his bioblaster from the armiger, sending the gravitational orb into the center of the daemon horde. The force drug the monsters closer, shrieking in defiance, claws scraping the ground as they tried to escape the pull. Noctis struggled to remain patient. The timing had to be perfect; this was his last magic flask. If he threw it too late or too early, he would risk only taking down a few of the Arachnes and wasting precious time and energy.

One…

Two…

Three…

He counted out loud and launched the Firaga spell into the middle of the cluster. The flask exploded on impact, incinerating all twelve of the spider daemons instantly, then the pressure in the room changed. For a second, he felt his feet lift off the ground, like he was floating, then his weight quadrupled and he crumpled to the ground in a heap. Prompto dropped at the same time, cringing and scrambling towards him. His lungs compressed and he felt like all of his bones were on the verge of snapping. Somehow, through the pressure in his head he registered the gravisphere still hovering, as it sucked the core of the Firaga spell into the void, then imploded with a deafening blast. It set the air ablaze, and the ground beneath them shattered. Noctis felt his lungs being cooked from the inside, but that was quickly forgotten when he was overcome by the sensation of falling. Time seemed to slow down as he felt all the weight leave his body. His hair lifted from his forehead and air rushed past his ears. He barely had time to feel the panic gripping his chest when fingernails scraped down his arm, drawing blood, frantically trying to find purchase, then fingers closed around his wrist. Prompto had caught himself on a steel beam that ran through the ruined floor of the cave with one hand, while the other closed around Noctis’s wrist. Noctis’s weight continued to fall, jerking to a stop when he reached the length of Prompto’s arm. Prompto felt a sickening pop in his shoulder before his hand was wrenched away from the support beam. He tried to scream, but the terror of falling and the fire damage to his lungs locked the sound inside him as they tumbled blindly through the air.


	2. Chapter 2

They fell for what seemed like a long time, arms and legs flailing out of control and crashing into each other as they frantically and unsuccessfully struggled to catch onto something to break the fall. The impact of their bodies crashing to an immediate stop, at least twenty feet from where they had fallen, knocked them both out instantly.

Noctis had landed on his back. When he came too, he tried to sit up, which caused a roaring in his ears and sent the world spinning. His stomach lurched and he gagged, rolling clumsily onto his side to throw up. He laid there shuddering and gasping as he willed the earth to stand still. Eventually the roaring in his ears faded and the dizziness subsided, but new sensations replaced them. Everything hurt. He felt like his organs had been scrambled and all of his joints dislocated. His head was pounding and his chest was on fire. He was sure there was permanent damage to his lungs. Angry burns ran the length of his arms and up the sides of his neck. He turned the rest of the way over onto his stomach and pressed his forehead to the cold, damp earth while he whimpered, trying to get a handle on the pain. He hadn’t heard Prompto stirring and he needed to check on him, but he didn’t feel like he could move yet. He reached for a potion and came up empty handed. He must have used the last one when that damn cart smashed into him. He really hoped that Prompto was in better condition than he was, but that didn’t seem likely. For five full minutes, he concentrated on breathing, filling his lungs to capacity and slowly letting the air out, over and over. He used this technique for pain management often, and it usually worked but unfortunately his lungs had been barbequed so it just hurt. He tried to concentrate on each part of his body to assess the damage. Both arms seemed fine and he could move all of his fingers and toes, so that was good news. He definitely hit his head, maybe more than once; the back of his skull throbbed and concentrating was difficult. His vision crossed and blurred occasionally, bringing nausea with it. He pressed his hands over his chest, stomach and rib cage, checking for blood and broken bones. He found nothing, but he was more worried about internal damage. Since it didn’t seem like the pain was going anywhere anytime soon, he decided he may as well try to get up. He whined low in his throat as he pushed himself onto his hands and knees. The ground roiled underneath him and he closed his eyes to steady himself, breathing deep through his nose. When he managed to get his right foot underneath himself to stand, searing pain bloomed from the outside of his thigh and he cried out, crashing back to the ground. He grabbed at his leg and his blood ran cold when his fingers brushed cold, hard metal. He looked down at his leg out of instinct, then wished he hadn’t, because skewering the outside of his thigh was a long, twisted and rusty scrap of metal. His breath hitched quickly, sharp and high pitched. It sounded far away, like it was coming from someone else and his vision started going grey and unsteady.

“Oh, fuck,” he whispered. “Oh fuck, fuck, fuck...” He was on the verge of hyperventilating.

 _“Get it together,”_ He thought to himself, shaking his head to fight away the rising panic.

He summoned a dagger and cut through the fabric of his pants so he could get a better look at the wound and figure out what to do about it. There was so much blood that it was hard to tell at first how bad the damage was. It had pierced all the way through, but it didn’t look like it was very deep into his muscle and it had definitely missed the bone. He knew if would be best to leave it as it was and wait for Ignis to take it out for him, but even the small amount of weight that he’d put on it when he tried to stand up had been unbearable. He had no idea where in the mines the fall had taken them and there was no telling how long it would take for Ignis and Gladio to find them. As far as he could tell, he had two options; he could either pull the metal out, or he could cut it out. Since he really didn’t think he could bring himself to slice his own leg open, he decided to try the pulling option first, but he knew either one was going to be brutal. He got a grip on the end of the metal, whimpering as the movement set his leg ablaze. He closed his eyes and took three deep breaths, then pulled as hard as he could. He wasn’t able to stifle the cry of agony that tore from his throat as the twisted metal scrap was ripped from his flesh. Gasping, he flung the bloody, offending object from him and curled over his leg, trying to staunch the flow of blood with trembling hands. He picked the dagger back up and cut away a strip of fabric from the bottom of his shirt and wrapped it around his leg, moaning at the pressure as he pulled it tight. He heard someone groan from a few feet away. His scream must have woken Prompto up. Some of the tightness in his chest relaxed at the sound of his voice and he searched the area for him. Noctis spotted Prompto laying curled on his side and crawled to him, rolling him onto his back. Prompto was still out of it but his eyes fluttered open and a low whine came from his mouth.

“Are you ok?” Noctis asked in a shaky voice, pressing his fingers along his face and neck.

“I...I don’t know,” Prompto gasped.

“Do you want to try to sit up?” Noctis asked. Prompto nodded, sucking in a breath and wincing when his lungs blazed.

Noctis wrapped his arms around Prompto and pulled him upright, keeping both hands on his shoulders while he swayed and tried to get his bearings.

“What hurts?” Noctis asked, not immediately seeing any signs of injury on him.

“Oh my god, everything,” Promto sighed and tilted. Noctis grabbed him tighter and steadied him.

“I know. Me too,” Noctis said, rubbing his back supportively. “Do you think anything’s broken?”

“I can’t move my right arm,” Prompto admitted. “I heard something snap right before we fell. My shoulder’s killing me.”

Noctis pulled at the collar of his shirt to see the pit in his shoulder where the joint was pulled badly out of its socket.

“It’s dislocated. Do you want me to fix it for you?” Noctis asked, swallowing back bile, hoping desperately the answer would be no.

“You know how?” Prompto asked.

“Yeah. Gladio taught me a few years ago. Its…its going to be even worse going back in…” Noctis trailed off with a shiver, remembering the day it had happened.

He had been learning how to warp for a few weeks and had gotten pretty good with his smaller weapons. He was struggling with his great sword, a large and cumbersome weapon that he hadn’t cared for in the first place, let alone when it was pulling him blindly out of existence and landing fifty him yards away, but Gladio insisted he learn how to use it since there were enemies that would take forever to whittle down with his spears and short swords. He had been winding it up to throw the blade, but the weight pulled him off balanced and he panicked. He kept hand one hand on it, not wanting to drop it, and the momentum pulled his arm out of socket. Noctis shuddered, remembering the feeling of his bones grinding and the awful cracking sound that it made when Gladio braced his foot against his chest, jerking his arm until it popped back into place. How he hadn’t been able to stop himself from screaming, then vomiting everything in his stomach. Gladio, uncharacteristically nurturing, had rubbed circles on his back until the retching stopped, and even pulled his good arm across his shoulder as he helped him walk to the infirmary.

“Just do it,” Prompto said. “I’ll be useless if we get ambushed again and I can’t shoot. I’m not very good with my left hand yet.”

Noctis helped Promto across the floor so he could rest with his back against the wall. He grabbed Prompto’s right forearm and planted his boot in his armpit, hissing at the pain in his damaged leg as it took his full weight.

“Try not to struggle. It’ll go back in easier if you’re not tensed up. Easier said than done, obviously,” Noctis said, on the verge of vomiting again. “I’m gonna pull on the count of three. Ready?”

“Not at all,” Prompto said. “Please just get it on the first try.” He closed his eyes, locked his teeth together and pressed the back of his head against the wall.

Noctis gave him what he hoped to be a reassuring nod and took a deep breath. He counted to two and pulled. The telltale crack that came from Prompto’s shoulder and the proceeding cry of pain signaled that it had worked.

“Fuck! You told me on three!” Prompto cried, curling his shoulder up toward his ear.

Noctis crouched in front of him, letting Prompto lean his face into his collar bone while he gasped and trembled. Cold sweat had broken out across his forehead and all the color had drained from his face. He gagged but managed to keep from throwing up.

“I’m so sorry,” Noctis’s voice wobbled. “This is all my fault.”

Prompto pulled his head back and looked at him, confused.

“What are you talking about?”

“You didn’t want to go into the cave. I should have listened and not dragged you in there with me. I’m sorry…” Noctis trailed off when his throat started getting tight, on the verge of tears.

“This isn’t your fault. You were just trying to do the right thing. You had no way of knowing this was going to happen. Please don’t beat yourself up and let’s just focus on trying to get the fuck out of here,” Prompto said.

Noctis nodded, but he didn’t feel any better. When he took in the gravity of their situation, he actually felt a million times worse. They couldn’t have fallen more than 20 feet and survived, at least not without critical injuries, but where they were now looked much more threatening than the floor they had started on. Water dripped down the sides of the stone walls, pooling in frequent spots on the algae covered ground and while the top floor had been well lit, this one seemed to only have a few sparse, flickering lanterns high overhead. The amount of light would probably be enough to ward off lesser daemons, but it would be just enough to seriously piss off a more powerful one. Noctis stood slowly, careful to keep most of his weight on his left leg and offered Prompto a hand, pulling him carefully to his feet by his uninjured arm.

“That’s going to hurt for a couple of days,” Noctis said, indicating Prompto’s shoulder. “Try not to use it if you can and we'll get you in a sling as soon as we get to Hammerhead.”

“Hey! That will be a good excuse to lay around playing video games for a little while, right?” Prompto said, instantly perking up.

“Yeah,” Noctis chuckled dryly. “And it’ll give me time to recover from the forty lashes I’ll probably have to take for getting us into this mess.”

Prompto’s lips pressed into a hard line as he tried to think of a way to keep Noct from spiraling downward.

“Come on,” Prompto said, nudging him with his elbow. “Maybe this was a blessing in disguise. How cool would it be if that explosion dropped us right on top of that bow?”

Noctis sighed, shaking his head doubtfully as they started walking. It only took about fifteen minutes before they came to a conspicuous break in one of the walls, a beam of silvery light pouring from it and the telltale hum of a royal tomb buzzing faintly. Noctis could feel the pull of the magic in his core the closer they got to it.

“Want me to just wait out here and stand guard?” Prompto asked. Noctis was the only one who could summon the royal weapons anyway, so he had no choice but to go in. Prompto could go with him, but it seemed to make more sense to have someone stand by incase anything tried to creep up and trap them in the tomb.

“Might as well,” Noctis said, already feeling the tension of claustrophobia. “No sense in both of us getting stuck in there. I don’t know if I’ll even be able to squeeze through.”

It was a tight squeeze. He had to stop a couple of time and get a hold of himself as panic crept over him, but he managed to make it through. The way led to a simple, circular cave, similar to the one they had been ambushed in before they fell, but this time instead of a mass of spider daemons there was a royal tomb, majestically glowing, identical to all of the other ones they had come to before. Noctis entered the tomb and genuflected, then stood over the stone sarcophagus where the statue of the former King was laid to rest with the weapon clutched to his chest. Noctis placed his right hand over the bow, feeling the pull of the magic grow, warming him from the center of his core and spreading down his arm and into his palm. The bow lifted, turned in the air and pointed straight at his chest, then launched into him in a shatter of blue crystalline magic. It still made him uncomfortable when the weapons shot into him like that, but he was starting to get used to it. The pain was so sudden and unexpected the first time that it brought him to his knees and took him a full half hour before he could stand and exit the tomb, and even after that it still took Ignis and Prompto on either side of him to help drag him back to the car. He bowed his head in thanks to the former King of Lucis and exited the tomb, just in time to hear multiple, reverberating cracks of a gun being fired.


	3. Chapter 3

Noctis wriggled back through the crack in the wall as quickly as he could, too panicked about what was happening in the other room to worry about getting stuck. As he pulled himself free from the space, he saw Prompto squaring off with an Aramusha daemon; a robed, humanoid monster that easily cleared seven feet, wielding a deadly sharp katana with lightening fast movements. Noctis had gained a little bit of his magic back from summoning the Royal Arm, but his injuries were causing him to recover much more slowly than normal. He had probably regenerated enough to produce one good warp and it looked like he was going to have to use it sooner rather than later when he saw the Aramusha wind up to blink across the room to Prompto. He warped into the monster’s exposed side before it even realized that a second opponent had entered the room. The impact felt like flying into a steel wall and Noctis, officially drained of magic power, glanced off the Aramusha after striking it with his sword between the ribs, sliding across the algae-slick ground on his side. The daemon shrieked with rage, all but forgetting Prompto and stalking quickly toward Noctis with steadfast intent. Noctis scrambled to regain his footing, but his injured leg failed him, and he slipped, landing hard on his back. The Aramusha raised it's katana and brought it down swiftly, but Noctis managed to get his blade up in enough time to block the blow. The daemon repeated the assault again and again as Noctis scuttled backwards, desperately trying to fend off its attacks. His strength was fading fast, only able to hold his sword with one arm while he used the other to help drag himself backwards in an effort to put distance between him and the daemon. He could hear Prompto shouting in the background, trying to draw the enemy away from Noctis so that he could regain his footing. Bullets pelted off the monster’s back, but it didn’t even seem to notice. Noctis could hear his heart pounding in his ears, ragged breaths dragged from him as he tried desperately to fend off the Aramusha’s blows. He wouldn’t be able to keep this up for much longer. His sword arm was already trembling from supporting the weight of the weapon and defending the attacks, and as hard as he tried he wasn’t able to keep more than a couple of inches between him and his pursuer to even give him time to get to his feet. The Aramusha slashed at him again, but this time he came underhanded, catching Noctis off guard, hitting his sword from the bottom and flinging his arm above his head, leaving his entire body undefended. In one last ditch effort, Noctis rolled to the side as the Aramusha sliced its katana down on him, preventing a death blow but not avoiding the attack entirely. The blade caught him just below the left side of his rib cage and sliced diagonally across his chest up through to his right shoulder. Noctis screamed, clutching at the wound as blood spilled generously through his fingers and kicking feebly at the unrelenting creature. The Aramusha pulled its arm back, pointing the tip of its blade right at the base of Noctis’s throat, poised to deliver the strike that would end it all. Out of nowhere, Prompto darted between him and the daemon, facing Noctis with his arms flung wide at his sides, like he was trying to make himself as large as possible. Noctis watched in mute horror as the Aramusha’s sword emerged from the left side of Prompto’s chest.

“Oh…” Prompto whispered, glancing down at the blade like he was unsure of what was happening. He glanced back up to Noctis who still lay prone, mouth open and eyes wide with horror. Prompto opened his mouth, like he was about to say something, but all that came out was a cough of blood, spattering Noctis in the face and running freely over Promptos lips, down his chin and staining his shirt, mixing with the blood that was flowing from the wound in his chest. His knees buckled and he collapsed, sliding off the edge of the katana while a wicked sneer split the Aramusha’s face in half.

The roaring in Noctis’s ears came back tenfold and he felt like he was looking at himself from above. Faster than he thought possible, he was on his feet. He screamed, not just a normal cry but a guttural, animal wail of agony and rage and warped with magic that he didn’t have at the Aramusha. This sent his vision spinning but the anger allowed him to fight through it as he conjured his armiger. The royal weapons ripped free of him, forming a rapidly spinning barrier around him, lifting him off his feet and propelling him forward, cutting the daemon down piece by piece until with one final wave of his hand, he sent the weapons flying into the monster’s core, effectively ending it’s time in this dimension and sending it melting back into the void.

The armiger expired with a shatter of blue crystals, sending Noctis crashing back to the ground and gasping desperately through damaged lungs. He clawed his way over to Prompto, who laid wide eyed and shock white, gaping, and clutching at the whole through his heart. Noctis reached Prompto’s boots and drug his body up the length of him, pressing his gloved hands to the wound. Prompto tried to scream but only managed a wet wheezing sound as more blood bubbled from his lips. Noctis swiped desperately for a phoenix down, a potion, an elixir, a shot of adrenaline, anything. He found a few antidotes, a handful of smelling salts, and one bundle of echo herbs. Nothing that would provide healing, and nothing that would bring someone back from the dead.

He ripped off his ruined shirt and pressed it into the wound while Prompto grasped at his arm, teeth bared, eyes screwed shut and wheezing out hollow breaths. Noctis put a trembling hand to cup the side of his neck to pull him closer. To pull him away from death.

“Please…please don’t go. Don’t leave me here alone. I can’t…I can’t do it without you. I’m so sorry…” he begged in a cracked and ragged voice while tears brimmed over, spilling down his cheeks and landing on Prompto’s face. Prompto answered with a shudder, weakly managing to raise his hand to place it on the side of Noctis’s face, stroking his cheekbone with his thumb, before his hand fell limp and the life flickered out of his powder blue eyes.

Noctis vaguely registered two sets of heavy footsteps behind him as the world tilted underneath him and he felt something deep in his core split into a thousand tiny pieces. A feral sob tore up from the pit of his gut as he grabbed Prompto by the tops of the arms and shook him.

“No!” he wailed. “Come back, come back, come back!” He screamed, over and over and louder each time. He had all but forgotten the torrents of blood that streamed from the wound in his chest, exacerbating the spinning in the room and the thrumming of his pulse behind his eyes. A set of slim arms wrapped around him and pulled him back from Prompto, while a hulking form crouched beside him and pressed his fingers under his jaw. Noctis barely made the connection that it was Ignis and Gladio through the stream of tears that shrouded his vision.

“Oh, no,” he heard Gladio whisper in a tormented and regretful voice, locking eyes with Ignis and shaking his head.

“We’re too late,” Ignis said in a cracked voice.

“Do something!” Noctis pleaded through choked sobs. “Help him, please!” He cried, struggling against Ignis’s embrace, clawing after Prompto’s lifeless form.

He recognized Ignis’s voice whispering to him but couldn’t find meaning for the words. The ground undulated underneath him, his head spun, his stomach twisted, and his chest ached. People weren’t joking when they said they could literally feel their heart breaking. He couldn’t feel any of the other pain; not the wound in his leg, the freely bleeding slash across his chest, his concussion, the scrapes and burns up and down his arms. All of the other pain was entirely overwhelmed by the sensation that his very soul was being crushed. It was more unbearable than anything he’d felt before, and the more time that past, the more incapacitating it became.

Gladio stood, quivering and stalked across the floor, smashing debris and old rusted mine carts out of his path with his sword while he paced aimlessly, chest heaving. Noctis turned into Ignis. He pressed his face into his shoulder and a deafening, tormented cry of misery ripped its way from the pit of his stomach. Ignis stroked his hair, for once completely at a loss for words as tears streamed soundlessly down his cheeks. Noctis continued to sob, horrible, chest crushing sounds pulling from his core as his nails clawed into the ground, cracking and breaking on the stone floor. Ignis was pulled from his stupor when he felt warm fluid seeping through his shirt and sliding down his stomach. He pulled Noctis away slightly, gasping at the flayed and bloodstained skin of his chest.

“Gladio.” Ignis said. “We have to go.” His voice sounded dead and far away. Even to himself.

Gladio turned back to him wordlessly. His eyes were red rimmed and unfocused, and he was quaking fiercely. One glance at the quickly growing pool of blood surrounding Noctis, he understood. Gladio crouched down and curled Prompto into his arms. When he stood, normally straight, tall and proud, his shoulders were curled, defeated, over the younger man’s body.

 _“Had he always been that small?”_ Ignis thought dazedly.

In death, he looked cold and fragile. Through the fog of his mind he struggled to help Noctis rise. The prince’s cry of pain and the pull on Ignis’s arm as he collapsed back to the ground pulled him from his stupor. Noctis writhed on the ground and screamed again, clutching at his chest with one hand and his thigh with the other. In a moment of panic, Ignis grabbed him and pulled him into his arms and started running. Noctis felt a cold, heavy wave of fatigue wash over him and his head rolled back and he noticed Gladio, slogging miserably behind them with Prompto’s lifeless body. With his last ounce of strength, Noctis reached for him as his vision tunneled to pinpoints and darkness overtook him.


	4. Chapter 4

When Noctis woke, a full day later, he found himself in the twin-sized bed of a caravan. He’d been changed out of his ruined jeans and into a clean pair of training pants, white gauze bandages covering his chest and arms. Ignis sat slumped in a chair at the end of the bed, posture uncharacteristically disregarded, staring dejectedly at nothing in particular. Pain must have been what brought him from his coma because he groaned miserably before he’d even fully come too. The sound of Noctis’s distress brought Ignis out of his trance and he stood, moving towards the head of the bed.

“Highness?” he whispered, placing a hand on Noctis’s arm.

Noctis eyes flickered open, slowly focusing on the expressionless mask that was Ignis’s face. Noctis had about a five second grace period before the events of yesterday came rushing back, slamming into him like a freight train. The grief, so sudden and so tremendous it made his breath catch and he gasped.

“Are you in a lot of pain?” Ignis asked, trying to force the right amount of emotion into his voice. He’d given him morphine before he sutured his wounds closed, even though he’d been unconscious, but it had probably worn off by now.

Noctis didn’t know how to answer that. Was he in pain? He supposed he was. He could feel all of his injuries acutely, but that was not what was causing him to feel like he needed to scream until his voice failed. This kind of pain was far worse. It was suffocating, crushing, agonizing, oppressing, and there seemed to be no way to escape it.

“I don’t…” Noctis breathed, the words sticking in his throat. “I don’t know…”

Ignis didn’t push him for a better answer. Feeling a desperate need to be doing something, he pulled the blanket that had been pulled up to his arm pits down to his waistband, clinically checking the edges of the bandages that covered his chest. He pulled the blanket farther down past his knees and reached for Noctis’s waistband.

“May I?” He asked, pausing with his fingers hooked under the elastic.

Noctis nodded but didn’t say anything. Ignis pulled his pants down to his knees and pushed the fabric of his underwear up to his hip, prodding lightly around the edges of the bandage that wrapped his thigh. Underneath the bandage, the wound was packed with gauze and raggedly sewn shut and would certainly leave a nasty scar. All magical curatives had a time limit. If they weren’t used before the wound set, they were about as effective as water, and Noctis had been well past the window by the time they’d gotten to a place to access any curative items. Generally, stronger items had a shorter window. A hi-potion needed to be used within about five minutes. A Phoenix Down, probably the strongest solution there was, had a window of only 90 seconds.

“Where’s Gladio?” Noctis asked lifelessly as Ignis pulled his pants back up and pulled the blanket over him.

“He went to…make arrangements,” Ignis replied stiffly, furrowing his brow, and sighed. “Is there anything that I can do for you?”

“No thanks, Ignis,” Noctis said miserably.

That wasn’t entirely true though. He wanted Ignis to make it stop. He always seemed to be able to remedy broken things, sometimes under seemingly impossible circumstances. But he knew that, unless Ignis had found a way to reverse time, there was nothing he could do to fix this. Ignis quietly returned to his chair and his eyes returned to that same point a million miles away that he’d been looking at when Noctis woke up. Now that the brief period of aggravation that Ignis checking his wounds had ended, he could feel himself spiraling out of control. His heart was racing, thrumming in his ears and through his skull. Panic gripped his chest like a vice, strangling him. He felt a sudden urge to run, as fast and far away as he could. The caravan turned stifling and oppressive. He could feel beads of sweat collecting on his upper lip and running down his neck, pooling in the hollow at the base of this throat. A desperate need to flee overwhelmed him, but he knew he would never get out of here with Ignis watching over him, even if he did seem like he was lost in space.

“Ignis?” Noctis asked, a little to urgently.

Ignis snapped to attention, standing automatically.

“What is it?” Ignis asked, mechanically reaching for his medical bag. Noctis forced himself to speak more slowly this time so Ignis wouldn’t grow suspicious.

“You know how you asked if you could do anything for me?” Noctis asked, trying to sound natural. He didn’t often ask for things, even if they were offered.

“Of course. What do you need?” Ignis offered, his expression softening marginally.

“I, uh…I’m kinda hungry. I was wondering if maybe you could grab me something from the diner?” Noctis asked.

Ugh, he sounded so awkward. There was no way this was going to fool him. Ignis’s intuition was unparalleled. It was like he had an additional sense for detecting lies and cons.

“Of course,” Ignis said, sounding sincere. “Is there anything in particular that you’d like?”

“Just a burger and some fries, please. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“None at all. I’ll return shortly,” Ignis said, grabbing his wallet from the counter.

Sorrow must be clouding his senses. He never would have fallen for Noctis’s trick under normal circumstances. As soon as the door closed, Noctis jolted out of bed, pulling on socks and his running shoes and the first t-shirt he could find. He checked the small, square window on the door of the camper and watched Ignis enter the diner. Noctis checked one last time around the camper, spotting the new stock of curatives. He looked away from them and opened the door, bolting into the night as fast as his battered body would allow him.

-

-

He ran flat out for at least a mile through the arid Leiden desert. His side cramped painfully and his ruined lungs cried for air. He stumbled to a stop, arms out at his sides and head pulled back to face the sky, panting open mouthed, trying to scream but unable to produce a sound. He fell to his knees, fingers clawing helplessly into the sand.

“Why?” he whispered into the ether. “It should have been me.”

He fell to his side as crushing guilt collided with despair, clasping his arms around his chest as if he could keep himself from ripping apart. Prompto had all but begged him not to go into that cave, and of course he wouldn’t have stayed behind while Noctis went in there alone. He was as loyal as he could be, and in this moment Noctis knew that he could live a hundred lifetimes and never deserve him. Unlike Gladio and Ignis, and anyone else in his life for that matter, Prompto had been there because he wanted to be, not because he had to be. Ignis and Gladio were like brothers, and while they had all grown to love and respect each other, at the end of the day they were with Noctis because it was their job; Hand and Shield of the Prince. They were born into it, as were their fathers before them. Prompto was the only person in his life that Noctis had gotten to choose, and for some reason, Prompto had chosen him too. Even though it meant long, hard days, constant danger and injury, little rest and leisure. And through all of it, he never complained. It was all that he needed to be included in the adventure. And now he was gone forever, and for all it was worth, Noctis may as well have killed him with his own hands.

Blind rage, at himself, the gods, the darkness, at his entire existence, compounded with the guilt and anguish. His breathing was erratic, sweat stuck his hair to his neck and he was gasping audibly through bared teeth. It was too much. The weight of so many negative emotions was crippling and he felt like he weighed a thousand pounds. He needed to kill something, to push his body past the point of no return so he could be pulled back into oblivion. He forced himself to stand, vaguely noticing that the stitches in his leg and chest had broken open and blood was seeping through the bandages, darkening the fabric of his clothes. He summoned his engine blade and slammed it hard into a rock, a cry of rage intermingling with the clang of metal and echoing through the night. He slammed his sword again, harder and harder, a constant howl tearing from the pit of his stomach as miasma finally started to form in the spaces around him. Daemonic fog lurched from the ground, materializing into solid matter.

“Come on, motherfuckers!” He screamed as several daemons formed in a circle around him.

A Bussemand was one of the first to come together. Noctis squared his feet, bringing his blade to the front and focusing on the creature. With a snarl he warped, severing the daemon’s head in one strike. He landed on one knee, pivoting automatically to the center of the daemon horde to target his next prey. Three Hobgoblins bounced stupidly to his right, shrieking incoherently to each other. He dashed toward them, slashing up, then down, then spinning on one foot swinging his sword backhanded, effectively dismissing all three monsters in a matter of seconds. Claws flayed his back open and he screamed, twirling in an arch and cutting the imp that had snuck up on him clean in half. He warped into daemon after daemon, cutting, chopping and slicing one after the other until his head started to spin. He was edging dangerously towards stasis and blood was flowing freely from the torn stitches in his chest and leg. He pivoted, head whipping back and forth, seeking his next target, when the earth split and a massive red arm materialized from the depths. The Red Giant pulled its hulking form from the ground and rose to its full height. Noctis centered his blade, looking up to the giant’s head and swaying. He stumbled, catching himself before he fell and warped into the monster’s chest, hitting stasis on impact and bouncing off its armor. He twisted in the air, righting himself to land on his feet but his wounded leg failed the second he touched the ground and he crumpled. He looked up just in time to see the giant’s sword crashing down towards him and he rolled in closer to the giant, forcing himself up on one knee and slashing out at the monster’s ankles. This did little more than piss it off, and before Noctis could react in his weakened state, the monster had him in its fist.

He tried to scream, but his lungs were so compressed by the force of the giant’s grasp that he could do little more than wheeze. He felt tiny snaps and pops all along his ribs and spine. Blood vessels burst in his eyes and blood had started to trickle from his nose. The more he struggled, the tighter the grip became and just when he was sure he was about to black out, the massive clang of metal against metal caused the giant’s grip to loosen. From this height, Noctis could make out daggers being flung through the air, striking the daemon in the eyes with incredible precision. The monster gave an ear-splitting howl of rage as it opened its fist and Noctis plummeted to the ground, landing hard on his side, gasping and coughing blood. Ignis and Gladio feinted and parried, one after the other as they whittled the colossal beast down. As the Red Giant stumbled, Gladio crouched down and Ignis dashed up his back, planting his feet on his shoulders and Gladio launched him high into the air. Ignis tucked his knees to his chest and flipped, gaining altitude, and landing with his spear through the giant’s shoulder. It fell to its hands and knees and Gladio kicked one knee up, propelling himself several inches off the ground, throwing his great sword out to the side, spinning on a diagonal and landing his blade on the giant’s neck severing its massive head.

Noctis lay struggling in the sand, still unable to breathe and clawing frantically at the ground. Ignis and Gladio darted towards him as soon as the Red Giant vaporized and landed hard on their knees beside him. The lack of color in his skin and the dark, sticky stains on his clothes indicated that he’d lost a critical amount of blood. He was trembling violently, and his pupils expanded and constricted erratically. Ignis pressed an elixir into his hands and helped him break it and he felt the bones in his chest and back realign and fuse back together. He sucked in a large breath as Ignis helped him break another and he felt the claw marks on his back knit closed.

“Thanks,” he gasped, not feeling grateful in the least. It had been so close to being over.

He let his head fall back and suddenly large hands wrapped painfully around his arms, snatching him up from the ground. He felt a palm crack him hard across the face, snapping his head back and sending white stars bursting across his vision as heat flooded his cheek.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Gladio roared.

“Gladio,” Ignis said quietly.

“Shut up and quit coddling him!” Gladio erupted back at him.

“Do you really think this is what he would want?” Gladio asked, still intense but lowering his voice a little.

“Yes!” Noctis screamed, splattering Gladio’s face and neck with the blood that still lingered in his mouth. “Because I’m the one who got him killed!”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Gladio said, but the fury was starting to leave his voice. He released his grip from Noctis’s arms.

“It’s my-” Noctis broke off, eyes wide and sweeping back and forth desperately, struggling to get the words out. “It’s my fault he’s dead. It should have been me. I wish that it was…”

Then he broke down. He told Ignis and Gladio the whole story. About how Prompto hadn’t wanted to go into the cave but had anyway because Noctis had told him that if he didn’t, he would go without him. He told them about the fire spell backfiring and causing the ground to collapse, and that if he would have done what Prompto tried to tell him to do, he wouldn’t have been hurt when they found the royal tomb and he would have been able to protect him. About how he had Prompto stand guard while he went into the tomb instead of taking him along, leaving him to face the Aramusha alone. And finally, about how Prompto had flung himself in front of the daemon’s katana, taking the death blow that had been intended for Noctis.

Gladio winced harshly at the last part, hearing that Prompto had placed himself right in front of Noctis at the last moment, just like a human shield…

“ _That was my job,”_ Gladio thought with an overwhelming surge of shame. _“I let them go off alone and let that kid stand where I should have been, and now he’s gone forever.”_

Noctis had slid back to his knees again, arms wrapped tightly around himself as he shattered into a million pieces. Ignis knelt in front of him, placing a hand on the back of his neck and looking down at him. Noctis looked up, eyes wild, shoulders hunched, wracked to the core with sorrow.

“You had no way of knowing any of that was going to happen,” Ignis said gently. “I know you would have never intentionally put him in unnecessary danger. He wanted to be by your side. Prompto died bravely, not just for you, but for all of Eos. He understood that the only way to restore light to the world is if you live. He did what any of us would have done. But if you run off and get yourself killed, what does that accomplish? It accomplishes nothing, and it makes his death worth nothing in the process.”

Noctis listened silently as Ignis’s words resonated through the fog that clouded his mind.

“You must find it within you to keep going,” Ignis continued.

“I don’t…I can’t…,” Noctis panted. “It hurts, Iggy. It hurts too bad. I can’t breathe...”

A sob choked him and Ignis wrapped his arms around him while he cried into his shoulder. Gladio knelt beside them, head hanging with sorrow, and gently placed a hand on Noctis’s shoulder.

“You can, Noct,” Gladio said. “We’ll get through it together. We won’t leave your side.”

Gladio and Ignis locked eyes as a moment of silent communication passed between them. They rose from the ground, Ignis on his right and Gladio on his left, and pulled him to his feet. They walked slowly back to the caravan as the first rays of sun crested over the horizon, edging the midnight blue sky in soft hues of pink and purple, and they didn’t let go of him the whole time.


	5. Chapter 5

One week later, Noctis stood facing a marble gravestone. Chiseled into the stone were the words;

In memory of Prompto Argentum

Who served under the reign of King Regis Lucis Caelum CXIII

Member of Crownsguard to Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum CXIV

October 25, M.E. 735-July 18- M.E. 755

Folded in his arms, Noctis held Prompto’s leather gunslinger vest, the one he had worn almost every day, with a Lucian Medal of Honor pinned to the left side, so that it would have rested over his heart if he had been wearing it. His fingers dug into the worn leather. This was the last piece of Prompto that he had, besides what he held in his memories. His hands shook slightly, and he fought back tears as he thought back on the events of the last week.

-

-

After the incident with the Red Giant, Ignis, Gladio and Noctis drove back to Insomnia. Noctis needed more medical attention than what Ignis could provide from their caravan in Hammerhead, and they had the matter of Prompto’s funeral arrangements to finish. Noctis spent the first day in and out of consciousness in the hospital with a morphine drip while they meticulously checked him for internal bleeding and brain damage and re-sutured his wounds. He was diagnosed with a moderate concussion, extensive bruising, and severe blood loss. All of these would heal with time, but his heart would never be the same. After he was cleared from the hospital, he was taken to his old bedroom in the palace to recover. When he came to after the haze of drugs had worn off, he found a note on his bedside table from Ignis, saying that he and Gladio had gone to discuss Prompto’s burial ceremony with Titus Drautos. With King Regis overseas negotiating the peace treaty with Niflheim and Noctis incapacitated, Drautos was technically in charge of all trivial decisions until Noctis recovered, or Regis returned to the country. .The Captain of the Kingsglaive was a cold and rigid man who never wavered from the rules and it was going to be difficult to talk him into allowing a Lucian funeral for Prompto as he was not of Lucian decent, nor was he an official member of the Crownsguard.

Still heavy with grief and very much in pain, Noctis forced himself out of bed and hobbled to the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth. He stood in front of the sink and stared at himself in the mirror. He was naked from the waist up, dressed only in sweatpants, and he looked like he’d just stepped out of a horror movie. Large blue and purple bruises decorated his sides, angry burns twisted up his arms and the black sutures that snaked diagonally across his chest stood out against the inflamed wound like an evil grimace. He thought distantly that this should bother him more than it did. The bruises would heal but the burns and slash across his chest would leave him permanently scarred. He was too sad to even care. He actually didn’t even feel like he was looking at his own reflection, but rather a stranger that vaguely resembled him. A man of similar stature, whose body was bloodied and broken, with hollow cheeks and empty red rimmed eyes that were framed with dark circles. He shook his head and turned the water on, and when he bent over the sink his bones and muscles groaned in protest and the pain seemed to ground him, bringing him back into the husk of agony that was his own body. After washing his face and running water through his hair, he rifled through his dresser until he found a decent pair of jeans and a long-sleeved black dress shirt. Luckily, his face had been spared of injuries and fully clothed, he looked close to normal.

Noctis took back alleys through the city until he came to the Glaive headquarters. As he walked, he ran through a vocabulary of words that sounded regal and sophisticated that he’d probably never actually used outside of a classroom. He found the door of Drautos’s office slightly ajar, and he could just make out the conversation that was transpiring between the Captain, Ignis and Gladio.

“I don’t care, Gladiolus. Have his body shipped in a wooden crate back to Niflheim where he belongs. He never should have been allowed inside the city gates to begin with.” Drautos said coldly.

“Captain,” Ignis said in an agreeable tone. “Prompto died bravely and honorably in the line of duty, protecting the prince. Would it really be so inconceivable to give him the memorial service that is given to any other Crownsguard member who’s killed in action?”  
  


“If he we’re a member of the Crownsguard, that would be one thing. But he wasn’t. He was nothing. He was Niflheim scum who just so happened to carry on with that slack jawed brat of a prince.”

Noctis peered through the crack in the door, listening to the spectacle and growled to himself at the way that Drautos was talking about Prompto, digging his nails into his palms until he drew blood.

“God damnit!” Gladio slammed his fists down on the desk. “It doesn’t have to be this damn complicated. Just let us burry him here!”

“On who’s orders?” Drautos sneered

“ _Don’t fuck this up_ ,” he thought to himself, mentally trying to copy that formal articulation that his father always used so effortlessly during negotiations as he took a deep breath, pulled his shoulders back and held his head high, forcing himself to ignore the pain in his right leg and walk straight as he pushed the door open and strode into the room.

“Mine,” he said in the most commanding voice he could muster.

“Prince Noctis…” Drautos blanched, ducking his head in a half bow while Ignis and Gladio stood silent but open mouthed as they watched Noctis sweep into the room. He obviously hadn’t been expected.

“Is there a problem, Captain?” Noctis asked.

“Well, the thing is…your Highness…it goes against protocol to hold a Lucian funeral service for someone who was born in a different country. Why should we allow it for one man, but not for anyone else who so claims to be worthy?” Drautos stammered.

“Because I said so,” Noctis said calmly.

“Your Highness, with all due respect-“ Drautos continued.

“Captain,” Noctis cut him off. “Where Prompto was born is of no consequence to me. You will personally orchestrate the ceremony and you will provide him with a gravestone in the Crownsguard memorial field. Have I made myself clear, or should I redirect you to his Majesty for clarification? I doubt he would react in kind to being burdened by such trivial matters while abroad.”

“No… your Highness. Understood.” Drautos said with a bow as the color leached from his face.

“And, Drautos, he was like a brother to me, and you would do well to remember that. It would be incumbent upon you to put forth the appropriate amount of effort,” Noctis said, then turned towards the door, gliding passed Ignis and Gladio with a small nod of dismissal. 

Gladio followed, open mouthed and bewildered, while the corners of Ignis’s mouth lifted slightly.

“Where in the hell did that come from?” Gladio whispered to Ignis.

“It’s always been within him,” Ignis answered, still smirking. “He simply had to find it.”

-

-

It took three days to for the funeral arrangements to be made. That morning, Noctis sat on the edge of his bed with his elbows propped on his knees and his head in his hands, trying to hold himself together and wondering how in hell he was going to get through this. He’d managed to shower and get himself into his suit pants and dark grey silk shirt before a wave of dizziness forced him to drop back onto the bed, when a quiet knock on the door caught his ear.

“Come in,” he said quietly, hoping whoever it was wouldn’t hear him and go away.

The door opened and Ignis stepped quietly into the room, looking pristine in his tailored Crownsguard uniform. Noctis felt some of the tightness in his chest relax when he realized it was him knocking at the door.

“Highness,” Ignis said with a duck of his head. “How are you faring?”

“Like shit. This sucks…” Noctis answered miserably.

Ignis moved across the room and sat next to him on the bed, close enough that their arms touched. Noctis let himself slump against Ignis, leaning his head on his shoulder.

“I know,” Ignis answered softly. “We should be leaving shortly. The ceremony begins in an hour.” He said after a few minutes of silence.

Noctis took a deep breath and forced himself to his feet, wincing as his injured leg took his weight. He moved sluggishly around his room, gathering the rest of his clothes when he noticed Ignis staring at him with a furrowed brow.

“What’s wrong?” Noctis asked as he pulled a black leather belt through the loops on his slacks.

“Your shirt. It’s too big,” said Ignis.

Noctis turned to the full-length mirror to see for himself. He hadn’t noticed when he’d put the shirt on, but how his clothes fit wasn’t something he’d paid particular attention to these days.

“Don’t know.” Noctis shrugged. “Hasn’t been too long since the last time I wore it.”

“Hand it here,” Ignis said, pulling a small sewing kit from his inside pocket.

Noctis unbuttoned the shirt mechanically and shrugged out of it, handing it over. Ignis frowned at the sharp edges of shoulder blades and prominent ribcage that a mere four days ago had been protected by a smooth, hard layer of muscle.

“You’ve grown thin,” Ignis said in a tone that he meant to sound disapproving, but it just sounded sad and helpless. Noctis just shrugged, avoiding looking in the mirror until he had the shirt back.

Ignis laid the shirt out flat on the mattress, pinning it along the seams on both sides and added several neat stitches until the garment had been taken in an inch on each side. He handed it back and Noctis quickly buttoned it up, spreading his arms and waiting for Ignis’s approval. It just touched his sides and fell straight down his stomach. The vest and jacket would cover up the stitches, which could be easily removed when he put the weight back on. Noctis pulled on the vest and tightened it as far as it would go, then added the black jacket with fine white stripes that matched the pants. The jacket had a little more room in it than usual, but there wasn’t much that could be done about that. He turned to the mirror, struggling against trembling hands with his tie. Ignis came up beside him and took the tie from him, deftly tying a perfect full Windsor. At this proximity, he could feel the tension rolling off Noctis like a storm blowing in from the sea.

“Does it ever start to hurt less?” Noctis asked in a shaky voice that made it clear he was only holding on by a thread.

Ignis had never wanted so badly to lie to him, to tell him that tomorrow would be easier, and within a week, things would start to go back to normal. The deep-rooted instinct to take his pain away conflicted with the need to be honest with him; because he deserved the truth. He was not a child anymore, but Ignis expected the impulse to protect him from harm would always be there, whether or not it was what was best for him.

“I suppose not…”Ignis said regretfully.

The thought of feeling like this forever made Noctis’s stomach lurch and flood his mouth with bile. Ignis saw him turn a sickly pale green and put both hands on his shoulders to steady him while his mind worked in circles to come up with something reassuring to say that was also truthful.

“What I meant was, the pain doesn’t go away,” said Ignis. “But you’ll find room for it… You’ll adapt to it. You’ll become strong enough to bear it, and after a while, you will be able to carry on. The important thing to remember is that you won’t ever have to do it alone.”

Noctis didn’t think he could speak past the tightness in his throat, so he grabbed Ignis by the back of the neck and pulled him towards him so that his forehead pressed against his collarbone. Ignis let him rest there, smoothing down the hair on the back of his head before pulling him away and finishing the top button on his suit jacket. He pulled out a pair of white leather gloves and handed them to Noctis, presumably to cover the bloody mess of his nails.

“Gladio will be waiting with the car,” Ignis said.

They walked through the palace hallways and down the stairs until they reached the foyer and the door to the street. Gladio stood by the car, holding open the door to the back seat for Noctis.

“Thanks, Gladio,” Noctis said as Gladio grabbed his shoulder and squeezed lightly.

Noctis ducked into the car and shut the door as Gladio took the passenger seat and Ignis drove. The twenty-minute ride to the mouth of the river that flowed through Insomnia was somber and quiet. They arrived at a small clearing next to a placid section of the river where a procession of former Crownsguard and a small group of Glaives assembled. Noctis also noted a few civilians from his and Prompto’s class that he hadn’t seen since high school, and honestly couldn’t remember any of their names. A small girl with red hair and freckles met his eyes and quickly looked away, flushing pink. He vaguely remembered her slipping notes in his locker. He thought her name was Kiara, or maybe Kylie, or something. She was cute, and seemed nice enough, but it wasn’t like he would ever get to date, fall in love and marry a girl just because he wanted to. Just like all the other people in his life, Prompto being the exception, his bride had been selected since before puberty. Not that Luna was a bad choice, quite the contrary. She was beautiful, generous, brave and kindhearted, all of the things and more that a man could ever ask for in his future queen. He thought that he loved her, or at the very least could learn to one day, but he still hardly knew her. He could imagine what it would have been like if they had grown up together, played together as children, watched each other grow and change, sharing secrets and stories and eventually falling in love of their own accord. The idea didn’t seem so farfetched. Instead, their only real interactions had been a few letters sent back and forth over the last twelve years. He found it hard to find any real enthusiasm about marry a woman that he hadn’t seen he was eight. He pushed the fantasies aside. There was no sense in dwelling on it anyway.

They walked to stand by the bank close to the Glaives, where Prompto’s body had been placed in a small wooden boat and draped with the Lucian flag. Noctis was internally grateful for this. He didn’t think he would be able to keep his composure if he could see his face; cold, still, and without a smile. A trumpet sounded and “Taps” started to play. Noctis stood at attention with Ignis and Gladio flanking him. The Summer air was still as death and unusually hot. Noctis could already feel sweat sliding down his sides and he struggled to keep from fidgeting as his silk dress shirt clung to his skin, pulling at his stitches. As soon as “Taps” ended, the Glaive and the Crownsgaurd saluted the wooden boat and a single archer stepped to the bank and untied it, gently pushing it into the current. As the boat begin to float down river, the archer lit an arrow and nocked it, drawing the bowstring back and taking careful aim.

Noctis suddenly felt dizzy. The temperature outside seemed to be climbing rapidly and the roaring in his ears returned. Ignis appeared to sense his distress and shifted slightly towards him, subtly pulling his brows together in concern.

“ _Something’s wrong_ ,” he thought, fighting through the lingering concussion to pinpoint the problem. The archer’s arm was nearly at full draw and he took a deep breath as he made final mental calculations on where the arrow would land. Noctis started to tilt backwards and Ignis stepped closer, so quietly that nobody would have noticed unless they were looking for it, and gently placed a hand on Noctis’s back to steady him.

 _“This isn’t right,”_ Noctis thought. _“None of these people cared about him. I had to all but threaten Drautos to get this ceremony for him. It should be someone who loved him. It should be me…”_

Ignis fisted in Noctis’s jacket as he lurched forward.

“Wait,” Noctis whispered, but it was barely even audible to his own ears.

“Wait!” he said, more loudly this time and the archer eased the drawstring back immediately. Ignis and Gladio stepped closer to him, looking concerned but they didn’t dare question him in front of all of these people.  
“It’s ok,” he whispered to them and they stepped back, once again standing at attention like everyone else. Noctis walked up to the bank next to the archer.

“I want to do it,” he said.

“As you wish, your highness,” the archer said, handing him the bow obediently.

“Thank you, but I’ll use my own,” Noctis said, summoning the Bow of the Clever in burst of blue crystal shards.

Noctis nodded his thanks to the archer, who stepped back into line with the rest of the Kingsglaive and turned to face the boat, which was quickly gaining distance and his heartbeat doubled in speed as he quickly began to reconsider his request. He was suddenly grateful for the gloves that Ignis had given him because his hands were sweating so badly that the bow would have probably just slid right out of them without the layer of soft leather. What if he missed? He’d had a little bit of archery practice but it was definitely not his expertise. All bows were different and took quite a bit of getting use to even for an experienced archer, and he’d never even shot this one before. On top of that, this bow was not at all like the long bows and recurve bows that he’d grown up around. It had a stock and trigger like a rifle, the string needing to be pulled horizontally and locked in place before the trigger was pulled and released the rigid bolt that rested in a groove along the shaft of the weapon. Noctis swallowed hard as he squared his feet and loaded the bolt, drawing back the string. The movement pulled at his stitches and he bit the inside of his check, forcing himself not to grimace. Once the string was locked in place, he lifted his hand to conjure a small and controlled flame for the tip of the bolt, flinching internally as he remembered the ramifications of the last time he decided to play with fire. He pushed the memory aside and lifted his face towards the heavens and said a silent prayer to any of the Gods who cared to listen that his aim would be true. As if in answer, a soft breeze broke through torrid air, cooling his fever hot cheeks and stirring the hair that had begun to cling to his temples. He drew a deep breath, taking one final aim as the boat sailed onward. It was now or never. In a matter of second the boat would be out of sight. He rested his cheek on the stock of the bow, exhaled, and pulled the trigger. The air turned dead still as the flaming bolt soared high, crested, and sailed back down, landing directly in the center of the boat and sending the floating casket up in a blaze.

-

-

Three days after the funeral, Noctis stood solemnly facing Prompto’s gravestone. Gladio and Ignis stood a few paces behind him with their heads bowed. Traditionally, they would have visited the grave on the one-year anniversary of his death, and every year after that sequentially. But Noctis was recovered enough to resume their journey, so they were packed and scheduled to head back out first thing in the morning, and he didn’t know the next time he would return to the Crown City. Maybe it would be never. He turned to glance back at Ignis and Gladio, who both looked stoic but nodded in encouragement. Maybe Ignis had been right. While the sorrow still weighed him down like a ton of bricks, he thought maybe he was starting to get just a little bit stronger. One day, maybe months from now, he might get to the point that he could carry on and remember the years that they shared with happiness rather than with crushing guilt and sadness that the time had been cut short. He drew a deep breath and turned back to face the gravestone and got down on one knee, placing the leather vest with the Lucian Medal of Honor at the foot of the marble slab. He made a fist with his right hand and placed it palm side down over his heart and bowed. In one last moment of weakness, he let a single tear fall, staining the faded leather vest.

“Requiescat in pace, mi frater,” he whispered.


End file.
